


better days to find

by addandsubtract



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Olympics, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: When it comes to being a witch, Satori only has one rule: he doesn’t use magic during games.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 17
Kudos: 220





	better days to find

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this before the in-canon time skip, but it's basically canon compliant up to that point. well, setting side that there's magic, and i'm pretending that the series started several years later than it did so i could write about the 2020 olympics. hopefully this won't bother anyone too much! i also did some cursory research about how the timeline of the olympics would line up with a university schedule but i fudged it when necessary for story reasons.
> 
> thanks to s for looking this over for me. i tried to listen to your suggestions as best i could!

i.

When it comes to being a witch, Satori only has one rule: he doesn’t use magic during games. That’s it. Everything else, as far as he’s concerned, is negotiable. Sure, he’ll use a charm to stay awake longer studying, he’ll spell the dishes to wash themselves, and, if he’s feeling particularly lazy, he’ll teleport carefully to school. If he can do it with magic, he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t, but he’s too competitive to fix a game in his favor. He wouldn’t do that to Wakatoshi — he wouldn’t do that to any of his teammates.

There is only one moment when he wishes, fervently and helplessly, that he’d cast some kind of protection spell, a luck charm, anything, and that’s when Karasuno scores their final point, and Satori realizes that it’s over. He’s never going to play volleyball with Wakatoshi ever again.

Later, lying next to Wakatoshi on the floor, stretching in unison the way they have for the last three years, Satori thinks about a time travel spell, going back to the last set and making slightly better reads, jumping higher. It’s extremely complicated, not impossible, but he’d always know — they were supposed to lose. They really did lose.

Instead he chatters, the way he always has, and he tells Wakatoshi that he’ll watch him on TV, and he means it. The corners of Wakatoshi’s mouth twitch up, and it’s not a smile, but it’s just enough to make Satori’s monster heart sing.

“See,” he says, rolling onto his back to grin up at the ceiling. “I’ll tell everyone I was your best friend, and I’ll be right.”

ii.

On volleyball days, Satori is always late for his lab. He bursts in six minutes after the start of the period, and it’s only because his professor, Takumi Miho, loves him that he hasn’t received any sort of discipline. That and she only has two other witches enrolled this year. Even though Takumi’s work is well-renowned in witching circles, BioMagic is not a popular track for young witches entering uni. It must be slim pickings indeed if Satori is her favorite.

Her non-magical work has served her well enough to be a tenured professor at a well-known university, but it’s her study of the biological origin of magic that got Satori to take the entrance exam. Witch society is, as always, secretive, so this class is on his schedule as an independent study — most of Satori’s classes are regular introductory courses, and therefore extremely boring.

“It would be different if you were playing,” she says, once he’s landed in his seat and pulled out his text. “But you’re just watching the matches on TV.” She doesn’t actually sound that disappointed in him, just tilts her head down, her glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose. She’s tiny and ancient, her hair cropped close to her head, her glasses enormous on her face, and Satori adores her.

“I told Wakatoshi I would,” he says, and has previously said at least ten times this trimester alone. Wakatoshi likely would not care if Satori missed a game, but Satori would. He takes his promises seriously, especially when it comes to Wakatoshi, who likely wouldn’t expect him to.

“Yes yes,” she says. “Unfortunately, Wakatoshi is not a student at this school. Open your text, we’re still discussing salamanders. I hope you’ve done the reading, because the experiment today can be somewhat explosive otherwise.”

Satori has — this is the class he does his homework early for, and never cheats at. He doesn’t care about learning English, or reading every novel by Oe Kenzaburo for his literature class, all he cares about is successfully identifying the glands in amphibians that secrete magic. That, and watching Wakatoshi kick ass at volleyball professionally.

“You’re lucky you’re her favorite,” Rui, the more friendly of his two classmates, whispers to him. 

Yukitoshi, the less friendly of his two classmates, rolls his eyes. “Or she’s taking pity on him because he’s such a huge freak.”

“Page 256, everyone,” Takumi says. “I’m old but I’m not deaf.”

iii.

Satori could have joined the volleyball club once he started school, but he could barely balance Wakatoshi’s playing schedule with his coursework — playing himself would have been even worse. That, and he didn’t actually want to start over with a new team. He texts Tsutomu between classes and gets the usual gibberish response, but it’s heartening. Shiratorizawa is playing well. Tsutomu won’t stop talking about the first year middle blocker — Fushigi? Fushimi? — who just joined the team, half because he’s very tall and half because he is absolutely unimpressed with Tsutomu as both a player and a person, which Tsutomu finds intolerable.

_you just gotta try harder_ , Satori says, knowing full well that it won’t help.

_shirabu says i should leave him alone,_ Tsutomu says, and then, _also how is ushijima doing_

Satori and Wakatoshi text infrequently — Wakatoshi is not a good texter, generally speaking. He’ll reply when engaged, but mostly with literal, one-word answers. Satori doesn’t like to rely on it as a method of communication.

_he’s fine,_ Satori says, without adding the ‘probably’ in the end that would be more truthful. _i’ll tell him you asked_.

iiii.

Satori knows where Wakatoshi lives — he ends up there the first time by accident. He’s trying to work out a more efficient teleportation spell, but his first attempt takes him where he wants to be rather than where he is actually trying to go. He’s not sure what it says about him that he materializes in Wakatoshi’s entryway and knows where he is by the shoes on the mat by the door. There’s only one coat hung up on a peg by the door, so Satori assumes he must live alone. No girlfriend or boyfriend. No other rookie from the team sharing the apartment.

Satori has been trying to play it cool. Give Wakatoshi some space. He’s a professional now, playing with adults, while Satori is taking classes on glands and trying not to ask his mom too many technical questions about spell composition. This, however, is the opposite of playing it cool.

Satori thinks about leaving. He can feel the humidity from the shower down the hall, smell the fragrant lavender scent of Wakatoshi’s shampoo, and besides, it’s ten in the morning. Just because Satori hasn’t gone to bed yet doesn’t mean Wakatoshi won’t have practice soon.

He means to, really, but that’s when the door to Wakatoshi’s bedroom opens, and he steps into the hallway in his underwear. His briefs have tiny whales on them, and his towel is slung over his shoulder. His skin is flushed from the shower, and his hair is dripping onto the back of his neck. He turns, sees Satori standing in his apartment, and holds up a hand in greeting.

“Good morning,” he says. He should ask how Satori got here, but he doesn’t. 

“Good morning,” Satori says. “Actually, I haven’t slept yet, so good evening, too. Uh, your door was unlocked.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes flick to the door behind Satori and then back to his face. “I was going to make breakfast.”

“Is that an invitation?” Satori asks. “I’m starving.”

Wakatoshi nods, and hangs his towel in the bathroom before heading into the kitchen. Satori follows, but more slowly. He glances into Wakatoshi’s bedroom, looks at the neatly made bed, the dirty clothes that didn’t quite make it into the hamper, the poster of Japan’s Olympic team on the wall above his desk. Satori knows better than almost anyone that Wakatoshi is still a boy.

When Satori makes it into the kitchen, Wakatoshi is already steeping tea for them in matching mugs. He seems perfectly happy wandering around the apartment without a shirt or pants on. He assumes that Satori won’t care, which is wrong, though not in the way that Wakatoshi would likely assume.

Satori sits at the kitchen counter and watches Wakatoshi take out plates, dish out rice and cook omelets for both of them.

“Are you a good cook, Wakatoshi?”

Wakatoshi hums to himself, thinking, and then says, “I’m fine. I don’t starve.”

“A lot of people would be sad if you did,” Satori says. “Including me.”

Wakatoshi gives him that look again, the one that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t _not_ one either — the corners of his mouth upturned just enough to be noticeable. It’s like a reward every time Satori sees it. He puts a plate in front of Satori, and waits for Satori to take a bite before moving on. The food is simple, but good — better than Satori could do without the aid of magic, definitely. Wakatoshi sits next to Satori at the counter, and the space is small enough that his elbow brushes Satori’s while they eat. It’s probably not purposeful, it’s just that Wakatoshi is left-handed, and he’s sitting on Satori’s right side. It’s only natural that they’d touch.

“Is volleyball terribly boring without us?” Satori asks. He holds his mug up to his mouth, feeling the warmth of it against his lips, the smell of jasmine strong as he inhales.

“No,” Wakatoshi says, shifting on his stool. Satori grins, watching the muscles in his back flex. He knew the answer before he asked. He’s not sure what he was expecting. Wakatoshi, however, keeps talking: “It’s everything else that’s boring.”

That’s more of a surprise. “Don’t your teammates take you out to dinner with them? Show you around?”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says. “But they like to drink. And their conversation is tedious.” He shrugs. “Some of them are good players, but I have no interest in them as people.”

“Harsh, Wakatoshi,” Satori says, and laughs. It’s nice to be appreciated. “If you’re so bored, I’ll just have to visit you more often.”

Wakatoshi nods, and turns back to his breakfast. Satori drinks his tea and looks his fill. Wakatoshi’s hair is drying, fluffing up, and Satori has thought about touching it. About pressing his fingers down the long line of Wakatoshi’s spine and seeing if he shivers.

It seems as impossible to explain as his ability to do magic.

“When is your practice?”

“Half an hour, but I run to the facility. You can come with me, if you want.”

“I should go to bed,” Satori says. He doesn’t have classes today, but his lab is meeting tomorrow morning to study. His sleep schedule is already misaligned enough.

They sit in comfortable silence for another few minutes, and then Wakatoshi stands, heading to his room to pull on some clothes. He never even asked how Satori got here; maybe he doesn’t care. That would be exactly like him. Satori would love to walk out with him, would love to follow him around all day, but it seems like too much temptation. He steps back to the entryway where he appeared, draws a sigil in the air, and then is gone.

iv.

Wakatoshi gets officially invited to the Olympic training camp in June. It doesn’t mean he’ll make the team but it’s an acknowledgment of how good he is. Satori isn’t surprised. Satori won’t be surprised when he’s on the starting roster, either. He has no doubts, even if some of the commentators on Wakatoshi’s games do. He would bet that Wakatoshi doesn’t have any doubts either.

The games are in Tokyo this year, so it’ll mean more, making it as a member of the host country. Satori texts Wakatoshi a small congratulations — fairly restrained, for him, to two additional heart emoji — and gets a _thanks_ in response. It’s enough to make his chest warm.

Until then, Wakatoshi has games to play, and Satori has games to watch.

v.

Satori nearly blows himself up for the first time about three months into his university career. He ends up with singe marks on the sides of his face and a minor concussion, plus Takumi saying, mildly, “That’s why you have to carefully measure the Beech wood, Satori,” before she sends him to the health center.

They excuse him from classes for the rest of the day, and tell him to lie in the dark until he feels less dizzy. It’s extremely boring. He stares at his ceiling for forty minutes, reconstructing the experiment in his head to figure out where he went wrong — Takumi was right about the Beech wood, of course — and then he gives up and calls Wakatoshi.

He gets Wakatoshi’s voicemail, so he leaves a long, whiny message about how dare Wakatoshi be playing volleyball while Satori is stuck in his room and can’t even watch him. He couldn’t say for sure how incoherent it is, but apparently enough that Wakatoshi texts him a couple of question marks an hour later. Satori is building constellations on his ceiling, despite that he should probably be abstaining from magic until the concussion is gone, and doesn’t notice until his phone starts ringing.

It’s Wakatoshi, of course.

“I know I said I’d keep you from getting bored, but it’s me who needs saving now, Wakatoshi,” he says, voice gravely serious. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for — sympathy isn’t Wakatoshi’s thing, and neither is conversation, really. 

“Are you okay?” Wakatoshi asks. He sounds close enough to concerned that Satori’s heart thumps painfully in his chest.

“I’m mildly concussed and very bored,” Satori says. “What about you?”

“We won our match,” Wakatoshi says.

“One step closer to qualification, huh?” Satori asks, but Wakatoshi ignores him.

“You could come here,” Wakatoshi says. “I could cook, since you’re not feeling well.”

“I’m the one who’s concussed,” Satori points out. “Why don’t you come here?”

“Because I don’t know where you live,” Wakatoshi says. There’s no inflection in his voice, and yet if he were anyone else Satori is pretty sure he’d be rolling his eyes. “And I’m certain there is nothing edible in your kitchen.”

Both are valid points. It isn’t as if Satori was going to say no anyway.

“Fair enough,” Satori says. “Give me like half an hour, and, oh! Pick a movie to watch!”

He won’t, Satori is sure, but it’ll give Satori an excuse to put something on and stay over longer. First he’ll need to work up the energy to teleport properly, instead of just showing up inside Wakatoshi’s apartment like a weirdo. It reasonably should take Satori longer than that to get to him, but Wakatoshi doesn’t know that. He doesn’t need to, either.

When Satori arrives, Wakatoshi has already started making soup, and he gives Satori a sweatshirt, like he has the flu and needs to be bundled up. It’s cute, and the sweatshirt smells like Wakatoshi’s laundry detergent, vaguely floral. They sit at the counter and eat again, Wakatoshi’s elbow brushing his.

“Wakatoshi! This is good,” Satori says. “I’m very impressed.”

“I asked my mother for a recipe,” Wakatoshi says. He doesn’t shrug, but he says it so easily, like the kindness is nothing. Like he cooks for just anyone. Satori wonders if anyone else has even seen his apartment. “It wasn’t difficult.”

Satori goes back to eating, because he knows if he says anything else it’ll be too obvious how grateful he is, and he’s not emotionally sound enough to play it off as something normal.

He falls asleep on Wakatoshi’s couch and wakes up early with a throw blanket draped over him and a crick in his neck. He leaves Wakatoshi a note on the coffee table before he goes: _had class, sorry! thank you for taking care of me! you’re the best <3 <3 <3_

vi.

The Japanese Volleyball Federation announces the lineup for the Olympics, and Wakatoshi is on it, of course. Satori has exams all day, but he manages to sneak in a voicemail during the break between his BioMagic lab and his English class. He doesn’t say anything special, nothing particularly sappy — just that he’s proud of Wakatoshi, that he’s unsurprised, and that he owes Wakatoshi dinner when he’s done celebrating with his teammates.

Wakatoshi’s team is going to make the tournament, but the Olympics are a bigger deal. The Japanese National Team hasn’t won a medal in a while. Satori is sure that if Wakatoshi is there, they will.

Rui and Yukitoshi are not that excited when he tells them, though that may be partially due to the fact that they’re all a little terrified of their BioMagic exam, and therefore are studying like crazy. They might be able to cheat on their English or Literature exams — though Yukitoshi, of the three of them, never would — but Takumi knows better. The one class Satori wants to do well in is the one he won’t be able to fake it through. The three of them have spent hours quizzing each other on which snake venoms are useful to enhance spells from which magical disciplines, which species of birds are smart enough to use for distance communication spells, plus what areas they are native to, and the current theories on why marsupials are immune to the effects of magic. Satori wants to know everything.

“You’re a bottomless pit,” Yukitoshi says. His tone is derisive, but Satori knows it’s out of jealousy. “How much of this do you have memorized already?”

“Most of it,” Satori admits. “And I read ahead in the book.”

“And yet you’re still spending so much time paying attention to your boyfriend’s volleyball career? I hate you.”

Satori doesn’t bother to refute the boyfriend thing — it doesn’t matter and they won’t care, nor will they believe him. “You don’t, because I’m going to make sure you know it all too.”

“Funny how you make something so kind sound so threatening,” Rui says and laughs. She has a better handle on the content than Yukitoshi does, though Yukotoshi’s general spellcraft is better.

“I contain multitudes,” Satori says.

By the time they’re finished for the day, Wakitoshi has texted him: thank you for the congratulations.

It doesn’t sound like much, but from Wakatoshi it might as well have nine exclamation points at the end. Satori spends the rest of the day grinning.

vii.

Satori visits Shiratorizawa in time for the leadup to the Spring High, so Tsutomu is losing his mind. Kenjirou is doing his best, but every moment winds Tsutomu closer to shedding his skin like a snake and launching himself, naked, into the sun. Satori watches practice, taking in the ways the makeup of the team has changed, and with it the strategy. Washijou is different too, somehow — Satori thinks that no one can play against Karasuno and that freak Hinata without coming out of it different in some way. The first thing that Satori notices is that the new kid Tsutomu has been yelling about for months is indeed extremely tall, but the second thing is that their backup setter this year isn’t.

“Hm,” Satori says to no one, leaning over the railing in front of the bleachers. He snaps his fingers, sends a small calming charm to settle over Tsutomu — not enough to keep him from playing his best, but enough so that he probably won’t have an aneurysm. It’s the least Satori can do.

After practice, Satori takes Tsutomu and Kenjirou out for lunch, and they grill him over ramen about the Olympic training camp starting in the next couple of weeks, like he knows.

“I’ve only seen Wakatoshi once since the announcement,” he says. “He’s very excited.”

“How do you know?” Tsutomu says. There are splatters of broth on the front of his shirt, and his cheeks are pink. “What did he say?”

“I think he said, ‘I look forward to the opportunity,’ but he had that gleam in his eyes, you know? You know the one I mean.”

Kenjirou nods, and Tsutomu squints. “Sort of?”

“He’s excited about it,” Satori assures him. “Though I hope he likes the guys on the National Team more than the guys on his normal team.”

“Did he say something to you?” Kenjirou asks, both eyebrows raised.

“Apparently they’re boring,” Satori says. “I think they like to party too much for him.” He worries that Wakatoshi is lonely, and he knows that neither Kenjirou or Tsutomu would find anything unusual about his concern, but he keeps it to himself. They have enough going on, and there isn’t anything they could do about it anyway.

“Poor Ushijima,” Kenjirou says, and laughs.

“It’s hard work keeping him entertained,” Satori says. “He’s very demanding.”

“You’re so weird,” Tsutomu complains. “He is not.”

“He is,” Satori says. “You just don’t know him like I do.” Someday soon Wakatoshi is going to invite Satori over so he can cook for him again, and if that isn’t Wakatoshi being demanding Satori doesn’t know what is.

“You mean sexually?” Kenjirou asks, grin wide, because he knows exactly how much Satori would kill to lick Wakatoshi’s collarbones. As if he hasn’t thought about it.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Tsutomu says and makes as if to stand up.

“No, come on,” Kenjirou says. He hauls Tsutomu down by the wrist. “You’re such a wimp.”

Satori grins, pleased. “Aw, I did miss my little protégés after all. Cute.”

Tsutomu scowls, but only to try and hide the way his whole face goes red. It’s exquisite.

viii.

Satori aces his BioMagic exam — Takumi writes _good job!_ in her neat cursive at the top, and Satori has to restrain himself from clutching the paper to his chest — and then there’s a week break. Just in time for the last practice and first Olympic match.

Wakatoshi gets Satori a ticket to the match without asking him if he’ll use it — Satori can’t decide if he just assumed Satori would, or wanted to give him the option just in case, but either way Satori is stunned into silence for long enough that Wakatoshi’s brow furrows in confusion.

“Should I not have?” he asks.

“No, no,” Satori says. They’re sitting next to each other at Wakatoshi’s counter, and it’s all Satori can do not to press his fingers against Wakatoshi’s cheek. Wakatoshi _wants_ him there. “I’m touched, Wakatoshi. This will be so much better than watching on TV! You’ll be able to hear me cheering.”

“Good,” Wakatoshi says, nodding. There’s that smile again, the corners of his mouth lifting. Satori spends so much of his time trying to make Wakatoshi smile like that. He’s lucky nobody knows it but him. “The doors open at 2pm.”

“I’ll be there,” Satori says. “Maybe I’ll even bring pom poms, like a real cheerleader.”

“Hm,” Wakatoshi says. “If you want.”

Satori laughs, and that’s that.

ix.

Wakatoshi scores eight points in the first set, and then gets tangled up with one of his teammates, going down awkwardly. Satori knows the moment he stands that something is wrong — he’s hurt. Wakatoshi signals for a trainer, and limps off the court and toward the locker rooms.

Satori watches the rest of the set but doesn’t see a single play. Wakatoshi doesn’t come back. Japan beats Italy by a narrow margin, and then there’s a fifteen minute intermission. Satori doesn’t know what kind of VIP ticket Wakatoshi got him, but they let him back into the locker room. Wakatoshi is sitting alone on one of the benches, his head bent, a towel slung around his neck.

“Wakatoshi,” Satori says, and he looks up. His face is a mask of fury — pure, righteous indignation. The unfairness of it, getting all the way here and playing for twenty minutes. His knee is taped up, stretched out in front of him. “Are you —”

“A sprain,” Wakatoshi says. “They don’t know how bad. I’ll see a doctor after the game.”

“I can fix it,” Satori blurts out, and then can’t believe he’s said it. His mother would kill him. His mother _will_ kill him.

Wakatoshi’s anger melts into confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m magic,” Satori says, and wiggles his fingers for effect. This is Wakatoshi. Satori would do anything for him. “I can fix it.”

“You can make my knee not sprained.” Wakatoshi looks up at him with the flat seriousness. There is not a trace of skepticism or disbelief, but there isn’t much of anything on his face.

“Yes,” Satori says. “I can.” He’d need a couple of things from home to make a salve, but he could do it. It wouldn’t even take long.

“Is that cheating?” Wakatoshi asks, forehead wrinkling. He doesn't ask if Satori is crazy, or joking, or lying. He doesn’t do anything except take it in stride, the way he always does with Satori.

“I don’t know,” Satori says, ignoring the way his body wants to sag with relief. “Why don’t you think about it and get back to me.”

“Do you want to watch the rest of the match?” Wakatoshi asks. “It’ll be starting again soon.”

“Nah,” Satori says. “I’ll stay here with you.”

x.

The sprain turns out not to be that bad. Wakatoshi misses two games, which his teammates pick up the slack for, and then he’s back on the court. He didn’t want any magical assistance, and Satori does his best not to take it personally. Satori never used magic to help his own chances of winning a game; he doesn’t know why Wakatoshi would be any different.

He does wish for once that Wakatoshi was a little more obvious and forthright. Satori could use some insight into whether to bring it up again, whether Wakatoshi even wants to talk about it, know more. It’s hard to imagine that he’s freaking out, but Satori has never told anyone that he’s a witch before. There are a lot of unknowns.

Instead of confronting any of his uncertainty head on, Satori goes to classes, doesn’t tell Takumi, Rui, Yukitoshi, or his family about his slip up, and sets out to ignore it. 

Wakatoshi scores twenty points in his first game back from injury, including the crucial third set match point. Satori texts him a cheerleading emoji, and gets Wakatoshi’s customary _thanks_ in response. Satori feels a helpless trill of relief that he savagely subsumes, and leaves it at that.

xi.

Satori accidentally spells himself invisible and spends three days morosely camped out on Takumi’s couch while she tries to figure out how to fix him.

“This is why you shouldn’t be experimenting on your own yet,” she says, scowling. “You’re still only in your first year.”

“I’ve been a witch my whole life,” he says, almost a whine, but it doesn’t feel like a great explanation when he can’t even see his own hand wrapped around the teacup she brought him. He’s lucky that everything inside him is invisible too, otherwise he’d be getting a pretty intense look at his body’s digestion process.

He can’t go to class, obviously, so he emails his other professors to let them know he’ll be absent. Then, while Takumi is distracted at office hours, he goes to the arena to watch Japan’s last game in the preliminary stage. It isn’t as if anyone can keep him out. They’re playing France, and either way they’ll make it into the knockout round, but the outcome of the game will decide the seeding. It’ll be either Russia or Iran.

He tries not to cheer too loudly, but it’s hard not to when he’s had so few chances to watch Wakatoshi in person since they graduated. Seeing the games on TV is enough, but it isn’t the same. The sounds — the squeak of shoes turning on the waxed floor, the smack of a palm against the ball, the gasp as someone dives for a desperate receive — are louder, more immediate. Wakatoshi has only gotten better over the course of the year, and from the stands Satori can watch his eyes track the ball, the coil of muscle in his calves as he jumps up to spike. It doesn’t look like he’s missed a step, coming back from the sprain.

Japan wins — they’ll play Iran in the first elimination game. Afterward, he gets a text from Wakatoshi that says, _I heard you cheering, but didn’t see you in the audience_.

It’s not a question — _Were you there?_ — because Wakatoshi is certain. He doesn’t think or feel things halfway. He heard Satori’s voice, and he knows the sound of Satori cheering for him as well as anyone on Shiratorizawa would. The idea that he was looking for Satori, trying to find him in the crowd, is unexpected, and Satori is lucky that no one can see him. He must look like a maniac, smiling so wide.

_i accidentally turned myself invisible_ , he sends back, with about nine shrugging emojis to hopefully show proper contrition. There’s something freeing about the fact that he can say it at all.

Then, after some thought, he adds, _don’t show anyone your texts, okay?_

_Yes,_ Wakatoshi responds. _I was going to invite you to dinner_.

Again, it’s not a question. It’s not, _Do you want to come over for dinner?_ It leaves the option open without asking. Wakatoshi all over.

_if you don’t mind talking to air i can_ , Satori replies.

_I don’t mind,_ Wakatoshi says. Satori stares at the words for far longer than he should, chest aching with affection, but it doesn’t matter, because no one can see him.

xii.

Wakatoshi makes curry, and doesn’t startle every time Satori accidentally brushes his elbow when they eat. He isn't thrown at all, just occasionally asks Satori where he’s standing, and if he’d like to taste the sauce. Satori can stare at him all he wants, too, which is an added bonus. Wakatoshi is freshly showered from after the game, and the post-game media, and he doesn’t mind listening while Satori makes conversation. Satori doesn’t mind watching his hair dry against the back of his neck, or the way the muscles in his shoulders move when he stirs the chicken he’s cooking.

“Takumi says she should be able to fix me tomorrow or the day after. My other professors think I have pneumonia.” Satori shrugs, though neither he nor Wakatoshi can see. “I keep accidentally startling her, which is funny enough that it’s almost worth it. Rui and Yukitoshi have been roasting me via text for the last day and a half. Plus, I didn’t have to pay to watch you play.”

“Hm,” Wakatoshi says. “I would have gotten you another ticket.”

“Next time I’ll ask,” Satori says. “Since hopefully I won’t be invisible forever.” He could be reading into it too much — he probably is — but Wakatoshi seems to like that Satori went, and would have rather been the one getting him a seat. Maybe he’s just so used to Satori’s cheering that it’s comforting. Maybe he likes having Satori around. With any luck, it’s both.

“This is delicious, Wakatoshi,” Satori says. He’d had two helpings. He’s been trying not to eat Takumi out of house and home, since she’s been nice enough to put him up while she studies his problem. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. “Do you cook this often?”

“No,” Wakatoshi says. “My mother gave me her list of recipes when I went home last month, since I had recently asked for a few. It was my favorite when I was a child.”

“Oh,” Satori says, trying to imagine that conversation and mostly failing. “You had good taste.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t say anything in response, but Satori is watching him, and sees the corners of his mouth twitch up. Wakatoshi likes cooking for him, Satori is sure of it.

“I’m glad that you know, now,” Satori says, without meaning to. “About me being a witch.”

“You could have told me before, if you wanted.”

“Not really,” Satori says. “I shouldn’t even have told you now. It’s kind of taboo.” He huffs out a sigh. “I get it, but it still feels like lying sometimes, you know?”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says. He pushes his bowl back, finished eating. “I know what that feels like.”

“What do you have to lie about, Wakatoshi?” Satori asks, though he doesn’t expect that he’ll get an answer. Wakatoshi’s shoulders don’t tense. He doesn’t get stiff or defensive. He’s as stoic and relaxed as ever. He shrugs, but that’s the extent of his response.

“Okay,” Satori says, and, impulsive as ever, protected by the fact that Wakatoshi can’t see him, he leans in and kisses Wakatoshi on the cheek.

Wakatoshi sighs. Satori watches him pick up both their bowls, and move into the kitchen to wash the dishes. Something warm bubbles up inside him, and Satori grins, so wide his cheeks hurt.

xiii.

Japan wins silver. Wakatoshi gets team MVP. It sucks, because to get silver Japan had to lose the gold medal game, but it’s not nothing. Satori is there, in the stands, in the family section, among the wives and babies and parents of the rest of the team. He wonders if it’s weird that Wakatoshi’s mother isn’t here, but maybe it’s not.

Satori stays in the stands after the medal ceremony, knowing that Wakatoshi will want to shower, talk to his teammates, and answer as few questions as possible to the media before leaving. Satori had to skip out on the second half of his English lecture to make it in time, but his grades are good. His speed-reading spell is even better. He’s almost convinced Takumi to let him do his thesis — two years from now — on displacement magic. She still doesn’t entirely trust him not to make himself invisible again. Which is fair, really.

Satori is texting Kenjirou about the game — about Wakatoshi’s setter, who still doesn’t seem to entirely understand that Wakatoshi is left-handed — and doesn’t hear Wakatoshi walk up.

“I bought groceries,” he says, and Satori jumps, feet falling off of the railing where he’d propped them up.

“That was quick,” he says. “I thought someone would give a speech or something. Did the coach not have anything to say?”

Wakatoshi looks back at the entrance to the locker room and says, “It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” He’s still wearing his silver medal around his neck. Satori wants to touch it, and he wants to run his fingers underneath the band, along the back of Wakatoshi’s neck. It’s just like him to leave, if there’s somewhere he’d rather be.

Satori isn’t sure when he became that place, but he’s not complaining.

“I can try to cook something, if you want to relax,” Satori says. “You did just become an Olympic silver medalist. You could probably use a little pampering.”

“No, I want to,” Wakatoshi says. “I like it.”

“Okay, cool,” Satori says, easily. He’s fine with whatever Wakatoshi wants.

“I like you,” Wakatoshi says, in exactly the same tone. Matter of fact, level, calm. He looks up, directly into Satori’s eyes, and Satori’s breath catches in his throat. His eyes are so intense.

Satori coughs. “What?”

“You didn’t seem to know already,” Wakatoshi says.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t,” Satori says. He’s never felt so tongue-tied before, so absolutely dumbstruck. Wakatoshi seems to do that to him more than anyone else he’s ever met. Wakatoshi’s mouth does that thing, the smallest smile, and Satori feels slightly faint. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi says. Satori reaches out, touches Wakatoshi’s cheek, and Wakatoshi lets him. His skin is slightly scratchy with faint stubble and so warm. Wakatoshi’s hand comes up to wrap around his wrist, and that’s something else entirely.

“Oh,” Satori says again. “Let's get out of here, then.”

xiv.

Wakatoshi makes dumplings, and doesn’t let Satori do much to help, except to put little scoops of filling into the center of the wrappers. By the time they eat, it’s almost 9pm, and Satori wonders if Wakatoshi will let him stay over. He doesn’t have an early class. In fact, he doesn’t have class all day. He isn’t sure if Wakatoshi has practice, or if there’s a break before he goes back to his normal team. He’ll definitely want to go for a run in the morning, at the very least. 

It doesn’t turn out to be a problem — Wakatoshi offers him a pair of sweatpants and a large t-shirt without asking, and makes them tea while Satori washes the dishes.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Satori asks, and he hears Wakatoshi’s quiet noise of agreement before Wakatoshi’s hand is soft on his cheek, urging him to turn his head. He’s still elbow deep in the sink, but he goes, a question on his lips, and then Wakatoshi kisses him.

Satori drops the plate he’s holding back into the basin with a splash, but it doesn’t startle Wakatoshi, who kisses him again, mouth firm and undemanding. He makes as if to pull away, but Satori won’t have it. He’s waited too long, wanted this for too long. He turns, puts a wet, soapy hand on the back of Wakatoshi’s neck and pushes forward, into the solid warmth of Wakatoshi’s body.

When he pulls away again, the front of Wakatoshi’s shirt is wet where Satori is holding onto the fabric, and there must be water dripping down Wakatoshi’s back, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Wakatoshi’s mouth is pink — pink, from kissing Satori — and he has Satori pressed against the counter. His hand is tangled in the gelled points of Satori’s hair. Satori thought about this, but he never thought it would happen.

“Do you have a movie picked out?” Wakatoshi asks, and Satori laughs. His fingers tighten in Wakatoshi’s shirt, and he puts his forehead on Wakatoshi’s shoulder, trying to control himself. Wakatoshi doesn’t seem to mind.

xv.

Wakatoshi gives Satori season tickets to watch him play. He says it’s a belated birthday gift, but Satori thinks it’s just because he wants Satori to go to the games. Most of the time Satori takes Rui or Yukitoshi, but Tsutomu and Kenjirou each come to Tokyo a few times to go with him.

“So, have you moved in yet?” Kenjirou asks. He’s eating popcorn, lounging as far down into his seat as he can while still being able to see the action.

Satori squints at him. “What?”

Kenjirou rolls his eyes. “With Ushijima.” He glances up at Satori’s expression and snorts. “C’mon, Tendou, you’re the least subtle person I know.”

“That’s a little fast, don’t you think?” Satori looks over at Kenjirou’s skeptical eyebrows and laughs. “I do stay over a lot, though.”

He does. Wakatoshi cooks, and Satori talks. He’s aced his second BioMagic exam, and Takumi asked him to be her research assistant during the break between trimesters. He’s perfected his teleportation spell, and now it takes him to Wakatoshi’s apartment on purpose. Wakatoshi’s team is headed to the playoffs soon, and Satori will be there to watch. It’s surreal to think that he’s gotten just about everything that he wanted.

“We’re happy for you, you know,” Kenjirou says. “Goshiki, particularly, is beside himself.”

“Thanks,” Satori says. “Tell Tsutomu not to pine too much, I’m sure the perfect man will come around.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s still working on seducing that first year,” Kenjirou says, voice sour.

“Ah, young love.” Satori laughs. On the court, the whistle blows between plays, and Wakatoshi shields his eyes from the lights as he looks up into the stands, finding Satori and Kenjirou. Satori waves, barely restraining himself from blowing Wakatoshi a kiss, and curves his hands above his head into a huge heart. Much more discreet. Wakatoshi smiles, tiny and smug. It’s perfect.


End file.
